


Bridging the Gap

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Series: Draco/Al Bridge series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Come Shot, Cross-Generation Relationship, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex, nagging, math help.  Draco gets it all from his not-boyfriend, Albus Severus Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridging the Gap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/gifts).



> A/N: This is a timestamp to [Building Bridges While They Burn](http://lumosed-quill.livejournal.com/33964.html), set in the middle of their eight-week affair. The original story is DM/ASP but also heavy H/D UST and past Harry/Draco with possible future Harry/Draco. This piece just barely hints at the H/D UST, but... Well, do with that information what you will. Beta'd by the gracious and wise [](http://capitu.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://capitu.livejournal.com/)**capitu**. Thank you so much, hon!
> 
>  
> 
> Alas, this is my birthday present to my AMAZING friend, [](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/)**birdsofshore**! My dear, I hope you have a truly fantastic day and an even better year! I'm so grateful we've become such good friends, I can't even tell you.  <3 Enjoy!

It's nearly four in the morning, and the numbers aren't adding up. Herb Alpert's trumpet winds river-slow through the room, doing what it can to soothe the ache in my head, but I end up throwing my glasses onto the bar and gripping the bridge of my nose nonetheless.

"You're going to break them," he says.

I hadn't heard his footfalls, hadn't known he was in the room. He went up to bed an hour ago. He's supposed to be sleeping. I told him I was too tired to fuck tonight, but he insisted on staying at my flat anyway. Merlin knows why.

Now here he is. Nagging me.

I look up, intending to send him back off to bed in as curt a way as I know how, when my gaze falls on him, and I can't.

I can't speak.

Can't breathe.

Can't bloody _think_.

He's in my green silk dressing robe (a gag gift from Pansy one Yule), and the flimsy thing is falling off. It should be ridiculous on him: he's muscled where I'm slender, broad where I'm thin. But it's not ridiculous. It's simply not.

The silk drips off him, conforms to him, slips and shows one tiny hard nipple, the marble that is his stomach, the bulky knot of a shoulder.

He's smiling softly at me, his feet seductively bare. Coarse black hair sprouts at odd angles on his toes.

"If I break them, I break them," I say. "We both know _Reparo_ , do we not?" I pick my glasses up off the bar and situate them back on my face, trying to focus once more on the parchments going blurry in front of me instead of Albus Severus Potter coming closer.

But fucking Salazar, I'm sixty-seven Galleons short, over and over again, and I'm ready to set the books on fire just to be rid of them.

And he's there. He's leaning on the bar next to me. He's fiddling with the tie on his -- _my_ \-- robe, and it's all I can do not to yank it open myself and drag him into my lap.

His proximity isn't doing my prick any favours.

Or maybe it is.

Maybe it will just take an adjustment to my perspective.

"You need to relax, Draco." He reaches out a hand and fondles the ends of my hair, just where it touches my ear. It tickles, and I bat his hand away in frustration.

"Are you offering to do my numbers for me?"

"You know what I'm offering." His voice -- low, deep, gentle -- unwinds me.

"I told you--"

"You don't have to do anything." His hands go to my belt. It jingles as he unfastens it. I inhale sharply as his knuckles brush my erection. I meet his gaze just before his head goes into my lap. "Relax," he whispers, like he's talking to my cock. He pulls it out. I'm half-hard.

I go back to my numbers, sighing. If he wants to suck me off, fine. He can suck me off. It doesn't change the fact that my books need to add up, and not tomorrow. Bloody _tonight_.

He takes the head of my cock between his lips and licks at the slit.

Fifty-two plus forty-six plus ninety-one minus seventy times five... My quill moves quickly, scratching the parchment. The trumpet rolls, holds a sultry note like it's grieving. Al's tongue flicks, prods, then takes up an insidious rhythmic licking. I ball my left hand into a fist. The feather on my quill suffers tiny tremors.

He lifts his mouth. "Relax." His hands knead my thighs. He goes back to giving me head, bobbing, his pretty mouth stretched. My cock hits his throat, and I drop my head back, gasping. I need something productive to do with my left hand, so I let it rest in his hair as I put my attention back on the parchment.

Three hundred twenty-five, seventy-two, two hundred twelve...

Albus sucks off and starts tonguing under the crown, over the slit again, kissing the head of my cock like one lover kisses another, his hand moving up and down the slick shaft.

"Bloody hell, Albus." I toss the quill aside, then rip the glasses off my face one more time, letting them fall to the bar again. I take his face between both hands now, and he takes me deep. I love the feel of my cock filling his mouth -- the movement of it against my fingers on his cheeks.

Fuck the books. Merlin, maybe once I come they'll even make sense.

This is the utter bollocks I tell myself as my young lover services my cock.

This is what I'm thinking when I come in his mouth. He hums, swallowing and looking up at me. His eyes are so beautiful that they're hard to look at -- their colour brought out by the stupid robe. So I watch his mouth moving instead, his throat working. I watch the pads of my fingers tracing over his jaw. I turn my hand and let the backs of my fingers brush his cheek.

When he pulls off, I tuck myself away, trying to collect my breath from whence he stole it. He rises up, smiling at me.

"Smug bastard." I yank him in by the robe and rip the tie open. He's so hard; his cock touches his belly when he breathes. My hands roam over his body, and I delight in all that smooth skin, warm over hard muscle. All that energy, that power, that sweetness -- his magic, like his libido, always ready, always thrumming through him.

For _me_.

"Turn around," I say.

He turns in my arms, and I lift the back of the robe so I can view his stellar arse. I palm it, weigh it, squeeze it so hard my hands shake. He gasps.

"Bring yourself off while I finish here."

"Draco..." he breathes.

I hold him back against my body, my left arm wrapped securely around his middle. I don my glasses, pick up the quill again, wet the tip with my tongue. "Go on." I dip the nib into the ink and squint at the numbers.

Albus starts wanking.

His breath hitches, and I can feel the jerky movement of his wrist. There's a pulse point under my hand where it rests on his stomach. His skin burns hot against mine, his adorable arse pressed to my clothed hip. He leans into me, his head back on my shoulder. So bloody trusting. He gives me everything. And because he does, I give him less. I have to. Or he'll see.

He'll know.

Three hundred twenty-five, seventy-two, two hundred twelve...

"Draco...fuck..." His hand speeds up. I can hear it, that delicious slap. My fingers sift through the hair on his low belly. My quill scratches out a solution. It's still wrong. I could not care less.

My boy's about to come.

When it happens, he shakes against me in a way that feels almost dangerous it's so _alive_. I hold him tight, and Albus' cock shoots hard, splattering semen across his stomach, his chest, onto a barstool...

"Fuck, Al," I say when some of it flies, arcs, and lands on my parchments, smearing the fresh ink. I'd be angry, but I'm too in awe of it, really. I'm too turned on. I'm too amused by the almost frightening proficiency he has with that thing. I'm too...

Too everything.

He's breathing hard against me, moaning a little as even more spurts out at the end.

I laugh. "Christ."

"What?" He's all genuine innocence. Post-orgasmic daftness.

"You came on my books."

"I did?" He leans over the bar to see. "Oh. Shit. Draco, I'm--"

I bite his neck just behind his ear. "Don't you bloody dare apologise. It's fucking brilliant."

"It is?"

I bite him again, tenderly this time. It turns into a kiss. "Mmm."

He lets me nip and suck up and down his neck for a moment before he asks, "Draco?"

"Mm."

"Is this supposed to be a five?"

"What?"

"This here. Is this a five?"

I lift my mouth, but my glasses have fogged up, so I clean them quickly, rubbing the moist breath off with the end of his robe. I put them back on and then look at my numbers. "I think it's a...six?"

"You don't know?"

Quickly, I do the maths in my head, assuming it's a five and not a six. "Bugger."

"Was that the problem?" He turns against me, smoothing his hands up my chest and then unbuttoning two more buttons on my shirt for me. He grasps my loose tie and moves it under my collar, back and forth.

"I believe it was." I squint at the messy digit again.

"When was the last time you had your eyes checked?"

I turn my gaze on him and scowl.

He shrugs.

"Are you insinuating something about my age?" I want to tell the twat that his father wore glasses practically his whole bloody life. But not after what we've done -- what we're doing.

I don't bring up Harry Potter unless I have to.

I don't bring up Harry Potter at all.

"I'm not insinuating anything," Albus says. "I'm stating flat-out that you may need new glasses. If that makes you feel uncomfortable about your age for whatever reason, that's hardly my problem."

"It's not, is it?" I drop my hands and cup his arse.

He shakes his head, his smile quiet and fond. Albus Severus Potter is _fond_ of me. "I have no problem with your age, Draco."

"You don't, hmm?" I pat his arse just to feel it bounce against my hand. It feels so good, so absurdly good, that I keep it up. _Pat, pat, pat._

"I think you know what I think of it."

I glance down to see that his cock is rising once more. "Do you even know what a refractory period is?"

"Take me to bed, Draco."

"Well, since your spunk fixed my books, I suppose I don't have a good reason not to anymore."

"Quite right." He smiles hugely.

I turn my patting into a sharp spank. The sound of it echoes through the empty room, followed by his aroused breath. I can't wait to bury my face there, fuck my tongue into him, and loosen him up for my cock.

"Hold on to me," I say.

His eyes twinkle. "Can't even wait then? Have to Apparate?"

I jerk him in, and he grabs onto me for balance. I kiss him with determination, destination, deliberation.

I like to think that, once we've gone, my parchments fly about, scatter, and sway in the wake we created, slowly coming to rest on the floor.


End file.
